No Time Like Now (Lesbian)

Chapter Eleven

"What do you mean you're staying after school?" Mom demands. Jesus, she can sound like she's right next to you when she's on the phone. "Did you get detention? You did, didn't you?"

"No, Mom. I'm doing some extra credit." I bite my lip before "Will you just chill?" has the chance to escape. My schedule for the next month doesn't have any room for grounding.

While I'm getting an earful of whatever Mom's so pissed about extra credit, I notice some movement behind the window blinds of Aspen's apartment. Is she giving her client the customized ID now?

"--so you'd better be getting a good grade in whatever class you're taking." Mom takes a deep breath. "You'll be home by four."

Notice she's not asking me. "What if it takes longer than that?"

"Then I guess you'll have to save it for tomorrow," she snips. "But not the day after tomorrow. There's an exhibit opening at the museum the next town over, and you need to be there for your Dad when he does his speech."

Let me say, it took all my energy to calmly ask "What?" instead of screaming it. This is the first time I'm hearing about this. Although not the first time Mom's pulled this kinda shit. "You're seriously expecting me to drop everything because of a speech?"

Mom lets out an annoyed sigh. "You know what, yes. Dad has been working very hard on it, and we expect you to support him through it all. Now, do your extra credit and be home by three-thirty."

The clock on the dashboard says it's a couple minutes until two. "You said four. Why are you--"

"I don't have time for this," she interrupts, as if I was being completely unreasonable. "If I don't see you walking in at three-thirty on the dot, you're grounded for two weeks."

And with that, the phone goes dead in my ear.

Defeated, I put my head against the steering wheel. And jerk back when I accidentally press the horn. There's nothing I can do right today, I swear to God.

The door opens, and the customer steps out, looking around. Once the coast is clear, he scampers off.

I wait for five minutes to come by, figuring it's the right amount of time before showing up unannounced. Actually, I asked Jeremiah -- since he won't give me her number -- to text her if it was cool for me to swing by. Still, I'd want someone to give me five minutes to prepare for them.

Soon I'm getting out the car and going up to the door. I knock a couple times and then wait. Shuffling can be heard from the other side before Aspen opens the door. 

Noticing me, she smiles warmly. "Niamh. It's been a while."

A week and three days. "Yeah. You said the door was open for me and Jeremiah... which I'm still not sure if you're talking business or not."

"Either one works. Welcome," she replies, letting me in. Once again, I notice the lack of other people. She gestures for me to make myself at home. She then walks into the kitchen. 

Sitting back on the couch, I instantly feel the now irritating buzz in my pocket. Should I bother guessing who it is and what they want?

Mom. Of course. I slide the phone back in. I'll read her texts after the visit. She's not as important as she thinks she is.

Aspen reappears with bottles of red Gatorade. "I just assumed you were here as a friend," she says, handing me one of the bottles. "Or are you here for business?"

The years of public school has fucking ruined my brain. My first thought was, "Yeah, I'm down for the clothes-optional kind of business." Not the usual kinda joke, but it still makes me cringe thinking about it.

Instead, I say, "You assumed right." The clicks of the cap breaking off satisfies whatever part of me that's pissed off from earlier. 

Aspen takes a seat on the couch arm right next to me. We're both quiet as we sip our drinks. My mind, on the other hand, keeps zipping back and forth between thoughts of what I should say. Making friends isn't my strongest suit. Hell, I have no idea how I built friendships with Ikra and Jeremiah.

Now that I'm thinking about it, one of them probably managed to get my number and we were like this since.

A loud mechanical sound occurs, jolting me out of my head. What was that? Should I be concerned?

Jumping up from the arm, Aspen excuses herself and zooms toward the source. I follow to her business room, where an expensive-looking printer spits out a piece of paper that doesn't look at all like the printer paper I'm used to.

I laugh to myself. I got scared by a machine doing its job.

Now in her work mode, Aspen takes a pair of scissors and carefully cuts out the two license-sized sections. Like a child at a zoo, I watch intensely as she proceeds to glue the halves back to back before setting the piece through another machine, one I'm not familiar with.

She turns to give me an apologetic smile. "My next customer's gonna be over later today, and my laminator had a small breakdown, delaying the process."

Aspen checks the weird machine for any signs of it having another 'small breakdown'. Once satisfied, she leaves the laminator to its thing. 

After reminding myself that we're the only people in the apartment for the fourth time, I give in and ask Aspen, "Who else lives here?" 

Lame way of asking about her parents, but I know several people at school who don't even live with their family. One guy has two raccoons as his roommates. Their names are Liver and Sponge. No, I don't know why the fuck he gave them those not-even-names.

Aspen takes another sip. "Just my dad. He's not around much, though."

As stupid as it is, I feel pangs of jealousy. My own dad would coordinate his schedule in a way he'll always be home when I am. And this would be a sweet gesture... but you've seen how my dad is.

"Why is that?"

Exhaling, she says, "He doesn't get paid enough working only forty hours a week. Hell, even sixty doesn't seem enough sometimes."

Ah, I can understand. The jealousy doesn't go away, much to my annoyance.

"Is that why you have your business?" is the follow-up question.

"Yes and no. It's more of a hobby, but it doesn't hurt to have some extra cash." Glancing to the laminator, she adds, "And the machines are spendy, so I might as well use it for profit. I was lucky we made up for the expenses by not eating for a couple days instead of a week like I originally thought."

Ouch.

She chugged the rest of the Gatorade. "So, tell me about yourself," she prompts. 

I freeze. "Um, anything specific you want to know?"

Putting a finger on her chin, she thinks. "The most unusual thing about you."

Alright, I can manage. 

Maybe.

What's unusual about me?

She notices my hesitation. "Need some time to think?" she suggests.

"Definitely."

She giggles, and my brain goes haywire. Great; the mushy know-it-all organ isn't helping right now. 

Which I guess is the reason I blurt out, "I'm probably going to be shipped off to England next year."

Sigh.

Aspen's mouth contorts into a small 'o'. Sitting down on the couch, she pats the cushion next to her. As a guess, I sit down next to her. She checks her phone for the time.

"I have an hour before the client shows up," she tells me, "which means you have about forty-five minutes to entertain me."

I mean, alright.

I clear my throat. "Okay, be prepared to be really disappointed by the time I finish my story."

She laughs, once again triggering the 'Haywire' mode in my brain. Lovely.